Primadonna
by Miss Mightier Pen
Summary: Isabella is a primadonna girl. All she ever wanted was the world. Maybe Edward can give her that and more. AH AU


"Swanny, get your tush on that stage right this moment, or I swear to God, I'll sick Rosie on you," my boss barks at my reflection in the mirror. I snort because yeah, my fellow dancer would kick my ass if I wasn't on stage in like, two seconds; however, I'm the best she's got at The Cherry Room. There's no way Rosalie would commit bodily harm to her finest commodity.

I swivel in my green velvet antique vanity chair and face Emmett. "Look boss man, you're wiggin if you think your wife is gonna lay a hand on me; chicks before dicks and all that hoopla. Pop a pill or whatever, just calm down. I need to put on my shoes, and then I'll get out there."

Emmett sighs and mutters something along the lines of, 'Why is she on our payroll?' I shrug off his attitude and walk over to my shoe cubby. I grab two pair and consult my boss on the color choice.

"Should I go with the emerald suede pumps, or the patent leather magenta stilettos with the straps?" I ask aloud.

"Magenta," Emmett responds, "they match your complexion better."

"You know, if I didn't know you were madly in love with Rosalie, I'd say that comment revealed your true colors," I joke with my friend.

"Shut up before I go all Regina George on your t-shirts!" Emmett threatens.

I laugh while putting on my shoes, and begin to walk out of my dressing room before throwing one last remark over my shoulder, "It was Cady and Janice actually."

I'm half way down the hallway leading to the main stage when I hear a loud, "God dammit Swan!"

My subsequent cackling helps me get into character. I harden my features, but make sure to pout my lips giving them a soft look. Pulling my shoulders back, I anchor my back and concentrate on my breathing. As I get closer to the stage doors, I can hear the chanting. They don't want Bella Swan, a 25 year old college dropout. No, the people want Isabella, the brazen blonde bombshell. They want their super star. They want the girl of their dreams.

They want their primadonna girl.

I fix my headband with steady hands while listening for my cue. Suddenly, Marina's quirky voice fills the club above me, and I push past the doors and onto the stage.

My victim sits with his back to me in a plush loveseat. I slink my way up to him before the start of the first verse. Cat calls from the audience alert him of my presence, and he immediately sits up straighter in his seat. The man's hair color is quite odd, I note; copper shaded, like a penny and sticking up in every direction. I want to touch it, so I do. It's remarkably soft, and I'm shocked. It's almost like I didn't expect it to be so lush.

I gently tug his locks in my direction, and his head follows, although he still hasn't made eye contact with me. His defiance is like a challenge to me, and I like to be challenged. I lick the shell of his ear then and nibble on his earlobe before whispering in his ear, "You can count on me to misbehave."

He shivers, and I know I've got him. My left hand is still stroking his hair, so I snake my right hand around the front of his face and somewhat forcefully grab his chin so he has no choice but to look me in the eyes.

I audibly gasp when his green irises meet my brown ones. Good Lord, this man is gorgeous. I drink in his features as quickly as possible. His high cheekbones highlight his fair skin, while his square jawline draws attention to his pretty pink lips. Those lips need to be kissed, and I want to be the one to kiss them.

It's that thought that snaps me out of my ogling. I have one rule in this line of business: never kiss a paying customer. I've not broken that rule yet, and I don't plan to at all, even tonight with this beautiful man. Immediately, I resume being professional and begin to shake my hips to the beat of the music.

Making sure my body is angled to both the crowd and the man on stage I begin to twirl and dance, earning wolf whistles and cat calls from all around. I smirk as Isabella takes over, her body heating up from all of the attention. She begins to unbutton the blouse I'm wearing slowly and sensually. When it's off, she tosses it to the back of the stage where staff can grab it after her show. Soon, the skirt follows, but the lingerie stays on… for now.

I begin to slip out of character when I feel fingers tracing the skin on my stomach. A little interested, but insanely angry, I grab his hand and dig my acrylic nails into the skin of his palm. I shoot my eyes to him trying to convey my anger, but his eyes burn into me saying 'more'. I decide to give him more.

I sit on the opposite side of the loveseat, and begin to crawl over to the man, a feral look on my face. I first straddle him, facing towards the audience and my hips grind down on his. To my complete surprise, he begins to thrust upwards, matching my hips in steady rhythm. His eyes meet mine, and the connection we have is incredible. For a moment, I can't tear my gaze away from him, but I somehow manage to break eye contact and straddle him reverse cowgirl.

I continue my grinding, but remember that I can't spend my entire opening act sitting in this man's lap. I try to stand up, but his hands cover the surface of my taut stomach and pull me down onto his lap once more. Men and women alike scream excitedly when he does so, and the energy in the room heightens. I almost die of shock when I land on an obviously hard piece, but I manage to keep my face void of any sudden emotion. That façade breaks though, when this god of a man places open mouthed kisses down my spine, and his tongue leaves a moist trail down my back.

Before I can even react to his blatant affection his skilled fingers pop open the front clasp of my white lace bra. My mouth forms an "o" shape, and the crowd goes absolutely ape shit for his antics. He somehow manages to remove my bra and lay me down on the loveseat in less than 30 seconds. It's when he kisses my neck that I lose all control. He has yet to touch my breasts, but his hands leave trails of heat around my back, torso, and legs.

My moans are being drowned out by the cheers of the audience and the loud music blasting through the club's speakers. When it's becoming more obvious I'm deriving pleasure from these activities, rather than he is, this man places his mouth on mine, and I'm lost.

I'm floating.

I am no longer Isabella, primadonna girl. This amazing man has transformed me back into Bella Swan, normal person. I'm so in awe of what his kiss has done to me that I almost miss the ending cue of the music. With one last parting peck, I rise from the loveseat, twirl and wink, and then blow a goodbye kiss to my audience.

I have never felt more alone than when the stage lights went dark.

I am sobbing by the time I get back to my dressing room. My makeup is smearing and running down my cheeks, but I don't have it in me to wipe it away. The door to my room slams open, and Rosalie and Alice immediately run over to me, smothering me with questions.

"What happened?"

"Are you okay?"

"Do I need to file a law suit against this guy?

"Are you hurt?"

"Stop!" I shout. "I can't right now. I don't have your answers. I don't even know what to make of what just happened."

Rosalie grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. "Honey, that's not what we're worried about, and you know that."

Alice pipes up, "Yeah, Belly. You know all we're concerned about is how you're feeling. Are you okay?"

"He made me feel like me," I state. My two friends look back at me with confused looks. "I mean that I was Bella up there on stage. I wasn't cold, hard Isabella. I felt alive, and it was scary," I elaborate.

Rosalie smiles a warm smile, and gives me a dose of wisdom, "Sounds like you need to talk to this guy."

"You know, Rosie. That's just what I was planning on doing."


End file.
